


Legends of the Drabble

by thatonecrazydramakid



Category: Legends of the Sword (Jasper Hunter Howlter)
Genre: Drabble that isn't Real Drabble, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I Have No Soul So I Wrote This, M/M, Non-official Relationships, Theories, Whump, coffee shop AU, fake dating au, headcanons, lots of fluff, no beta we die like warriors, possible canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19085245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonecrazydramakid/pseuds/thatonecrazydramakid
Summary: Major Spoilers for Jasper Hunter Howlter's new/debut series Legends of the Sword. Even though only The Lost Kingdom is out, I decided to go ahead and write a jack ton of stuff anyways for the fun of it. For the moment, I seem to be the only person in this fandom and personally, it isn't fun. Basically, it's anything and everything. Comments are welcome and so are suggestions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Seriously, so far I seem like the only person in this fandom who writes fanfics. This is Spy School in 2016 all over again. Title semi-inspired by a Detroit:Become Human fic named Detroit: Become Drabble, meant to be ironic. Various things, really--theories, headcanons, little one- or two- or three- shots, etc. I know LotS is an obscure book, but y’all should check it out! Please? I don’t want to be the only fandom member again.

  * Dominic is gay (entirely based off the “I like vanilla, honestly” thing from Chapter Forty-Two and not much else; the boy strikes me as gay)
  * Hadassah is Jabez’s wife and the Drakonhardtian queens’ mother
  * Micah is Sapphira’s son (connected to above headcanon; I have a theory explaining this)
  * Snickerdoodle sits on everyone’s heads (usually Spencer’s)
  * Tobiah is Rasha’s brother
  * Rasha isn’t who we think he is
  * Spencer’s favourite dessert is snickerdoodles
  * Spencer had a crush on David at one point (the boy strikes me as bi and if Dominic is gay then Spencer may not be entirely straight; he could at least be bi-curious)
  * Naomi is dyslexic
  * Micah has ADHD (lol “Micah is ADHD” is what I originally wrote)
  * Tobiah chose the teams he sent out based mostly on who he ships (excluding Naomi and Micah)
  * Simon likes Naomi and possibly vice versa)
  * Salvatore is the “dad” friend of the group and Lavinia is the “mom” friend
  * Micah is the healer, Thomas is the scout, and Lark is the berserker
  * Thomas’ crush on Lark is reciprocated, but she has no clue how to deal with it because he’s a noble and she is likely not (considering her canon surname, Carpenter)
  * Spencer would not be able to use chopsticks. EVER. He’d probably manage to impale himself or someone else on them somehow
  * Micah has snuck into the Academy pantry at least once after hours to bring the others snacks on days they’re sick/feeling down/when he wants to. They don’t know it’s him most of the time and always assume it’s someone else
  * Willow can’t sew or embroider to save her life; she lacks the patience necessary to




	2. It Was 2AM So I Wrote Whump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sickfic. "Thomas gets sick and makes the ever-so-clever decision to hide it, and Lark has to take care of him. When Thomas gets hurt, things only become more complicated."   
> Trigger warnings for hidden illnesses, throwing up, sword duels, stab wounds, near strangulation, and to be added (if any need to be please bring that to my awareness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During training years. Thomas/Lark centric even though we have next to nothing on them (Thanks a lot, Jasper). Long story short, insomnia is a bitch, I have four hundred and fifty one pages of Sinclair Lewis’ Main Street to read, and it’s two in the morning, so of course I’m going to write whump and ignore Gerald the spider (who invaded my sleeping chambers) until 6:00 AM so I can shoot him with my Nerf bow.

“Come on,  _ Tommy _ .” Sinclair Limon teased, shifting his grip on his sword. “You  _ scared?  _ It’s just a little duel.” 

“You don’t need to do this, T.” Simon hissed from the sidelines, glancing at Valour’s scout nervously. He thought Thomas was going to lose. He was probably right--even if Thomas was the best swordsman on Blade, his team was barely able to work together for more than two seconds.

It was entirely possible he was one of the worst swordsmen in Arcacia.

There was also the fact he wasn’t feeling the best. He’d thrown up twice already that morning, and the buzzing headache that had woken the thirteen year old up at one a.m. hadn’t gone away. If anything, it’d gotten worse, and he wasn’t looking forward to the next couple of classes already.

Gripping the hilt of his own sword so tightly his knuckles certainly paled under his gloves, Thomas held Sinclair’s tawny gaze. “I’m  _ not  _ scared. Are you? You seem to be changing sword hands a lot.” Thomas replied, and Sinclair growled angrily.

The Valour scout lunged, and Thomas dodged to the side easily, using the flat of his blade to whack Sinclair’s upward. He darted in for another slash at Sinclair’s weapon--he wasn’t trying to hurt the hotheaded young man, only disarm him quickly and relatively quietly.

He felt Sinclair’s foot hook one of his legs out from under him, and the young man laughed when Thomas hit the ground hard. “Hey! If you have to fight, at least fight fair!” Simon snapped, seeming ready to dodge in at a moment’s notice.

Thomas rolled to his feet and thought he saw a familiar blonde watching beyond the clearing’s hedges, deeper in the Academy garden. He froze for a second, trying to figure out whether it was really her or not. In doing so, he spaced out of the fight entirely. Simon shouted a warning, and Thomas jerked himself back into the fight a few moments too late.

The last thing he saw was Sinclair’s pommel slamming towards his face.

When he woke up, he was in his room and in bed, an ice pack on his forehead and wrapped in more blankets than he owned. Simon was curled in one of the chairs, reading a book for Lady Fawne’s class. “Simon?” Thomas winced as he sat up, gingerly touching his head. Simon reached over and pushed him back down with a hand on his chest, annoyance obviously written on his features.

“Nice job, rustbrain. Now stay down--Sinclair gave you a concussion.” Simon closed the book and tucked it in his satchel, shooting a scathing look Thomas’ way. “You’d better not do that while I’m gone.”

“‘Gone’?” Thomas echoed curiously with a frown, and Simon growled in annoyance.

“Year Tens get the ‘privilege’ to take a ‘field trip’ to one of the towns guarding a Necromancers’ book. Arcuturus got the ‘luck of the draw’,” Simon used air quotes with a rather exasperated expression Thomas got the feeling wasn’t directed at him, “So we get to go all the way to Moonrise Ridge  _ way _ up north. For the next week. The only good news is that we don’t have to do any schoolwork while we’re gone.” With a pause, he winced and added, “But we leave tomorrow.”

“Lucky.” Thomas mumbled, and Simon touched his shoulder.

“Get some rest while I’m gone, okay, idiot?” He asked, and Thomas grinned at his brother.

“Sure, jerk.”

\--- I

Thomas did honestly plan to rest while his brother was gone.

The teachers, however, had other plans. 

As punishment for punching a hole in the locker room wall, all the boys had to run  _ eight _ miles in one class. Complaining wasn’t a good idea, as one of the members of Gold proved when he decided to whine. He got two extra miles tacked on to his eight.

“Yo, T, you feeling alright? You don’t look so hot.” Micah asked as they started their fifth mile. It’d been twenty minutes, and Thomas was starting to slow down. The headache that’d been bearable this morning was painfully throbbing now, and all he wanted to do was curl up in bed. 

“Aw, does Tommy want his  _ mommy _ ?” Sinclair mocked as he jogged by. Thomas could’ve sworn Micah kicked a rock under Sinclair’s feet, tripping him on the hill.

“Jerk.” Micah snapped as they ran by him. Micah’s cinnamon-coloured gaze met Thomas’ own hazel. “Seriously, though. You’re usually on, like, mile  _ six _ by now.”

“I’m...fine.” Thomas replied, slowing down more for a second as he fought off yet another painful wave of nausea. “Do they...even know...who did it?”

“Nah. It’s probably some Year Seven or someone who was messing around. They’ll break soon, unless they feel like running miles every workout day until the suspects have all graduated.” Micah shrugged and watched Thomas double over with concern. “You sure you’re okay?” 

“I said I’m fine! Leave me alone!” Thomas snapped in a much harsher tone than he meant. Micah flinched back and stepped away.

“If you need anything, just let me know.” He mumbled, then raced ahead alone.

It took Thomas sixty-three minutes to finish eight miles, around double what his usual was. Chest heaving, he collapsed on the grass, closing his eyes ad trying not to break down because his head ached so fiercely. The sun burned on his face, and eventually he rolled to his feet, brushing grass and dirt off his clothes as he stood. “Noble, go get some water! You look ready to pass out!” Sir Hasman ordered, and Thomas felt a hand on his shoulder. Glancing back, he saw Spencer watching him.

“For once, don’t hold yourself to that stupid ‘no water’ thing, okay?” He wasn’t trying to be patronizing, and Thomas for once didn’t have the energy to tell Spencer to back off, that just because he was Tobiah’s adopted son didn’t mean he had the right to boss him around.

Weakly, he nodded and stumbled over to the bathrooms. Once inside, he splashed water in his face, holding the side of the sink to steady himself with one hand. For a second, he allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes, pressing his forehead to the cool glass of the mirror. Dimly he heard the door open and someone touched his shoulder, making him jump and almost slip. “Whoa, careful!” He glanced around, all of a sudden lost and looking for his brother. Where was he? He was always around when Thomas was feeling down or sick--so where was he now? Was he the one who caught him?

No, wait--Simon was gone. It was Micah.

Thomas jerked away from his teammate and shot him a venomous glare. “I’m fine.”

A flash of worry crossed his teammate’s face. “You keep saying that, but you look about ready to fall over any second.” Thomas hesitated to answer and Micah continued, “Dude, your hands are shaking. You’re not well.”

Thomas crossed his arms, tucking his hands out of view and drawing himself up to his full height. Scowling down at Micah, he hissed, “Drop it, or I’m going to make sure you do.”

Micah held his gaze for a second, then turned and left without another word. 

\--- II

After a rather painful dinner (everyone was so  _ loud _ and the lights were so  _ bright _ and even his clothes hurt), Thomas made his way to the bathroom in Blade’s dorm section of the Academy. He knew he’d be alone--Spencer showered in the mornings, Micah had already showered after class, and the girls preferred the other bathroom. He also knew turning the water to ice-cold probably wasn’t a good idea, but he felt trapped in a perpetual, personal heatwave, and he was too proud to go and ask the infirmary for ice. He couldn’t ask Micah, since that would involve admitting he really wasn’t fine and he didn’t want to do that. Not that Micah would humiliate him for it, and he knew it was a stupid reason since Micah would only help hm, but it still kept him from doing it all the same.

The second he slipped into the water, he regretted his decision. The easiest way to describe the first few seconds was a violent, immediate shock. The water was so frigid, the instant polar opposite to his fever, that it was painful. He started shivering, pulling his knees up to his chest and clenching his teeth to stop them from chattering together. Burning hot tears pricked his eyes, and he bit his lip to try and stop himself.  _ No. Stop it. You can’t--be weak. _ His arms and legs started to cramp up, either from the cold or shaking, and he closed his eyes. 

By the time he forced himself into washing his hair and getting out, he wasn’t any less miserable than he was beforehand. The fever felt worse now, actually, and he curled up on top of his covers in just his pants, trying desperately to cool off and keep from shivering simultaneously.

\--- III

If things hadn’t already been bad before, they became worse in the middle of the night. 

Thomas was woken up by a sharp, twisting pain in his stomach, Curling around himself, he grabbed for the trash can he always had by his bed for various reasons, just managing to throw up in that and not on his carpet. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this sick. Simon had been there, taking care of him like always. They’d always done that for each other.

Except Simon wasn’t here now.

With a sound that was half-groan, half-whimper, Thomas attempted to haul himself out of bed. His stomach protested and his dinner made another return performance. 

Hours passed, and all Thomas could do was lie in bed, absolutely miserable, and make deals with himself. If he didn’t throw up again by 6:30, he decided, he’d go to his classes no matter how bad he felt.

Despite his stomach doing painful backflips for four hours, he didn't throw up again.

He brushed his teeth three times, to get rid of the horrible taste in his mouth, changed, and headed to breakfast. His stomach twisted even at the  _ idea _ of food or eating, so he settled for some water and nothing else.

“Look, it’s a zombie. We should go get Lord Hemingway.” Willow announced as he sat at their assigned table. Lark and Spencer both glanced almost in concern at Thomas’ pitiful excuse for a breakfast.

“We can tell him about the witch, too.” Thomas mumbled weakly in retort, supporting his chin with his hand and sipping the water. He wasn’t really in the mood to be civil.

Willow grinned. “Hey, you actually made a retort! We’ll make a rebel out of you yet, Noble.” She teased, and he ignored her. He was fighting just to stay awake. 

“Hey, Willow, can you help me with something in the library?” Spencer asked, and Willow nodded. As the two left, Naomi stretched casually.  
“Well, I’ve got cartography to study. Lady Moira wants me doing extra credit.” She made a face and then left,

Thomas didn’t realise he’d spaced out until Micah snapped in front of his face. When he shot a glance the prankster’s way, Micah nodded to indicate Lark. “Sorry, what?” Thomas asked, aware of the exhaustion that was leaching into his voice but too worn out to stop it. 

She pushed a plate over to him. He averted his gaze instantly. Even if it was buttered toast and nothing else, his stomach was turning. “Thomas, please.” He met her gaze, instantly regretting doing so. She was giving him the doe-eyed stare she knew he couldn’t resist. When he met her gaze, she smiled at him, although concern filled her eyes. “Just a little bit? For me?”

Inwardly, he groaned and cursed himself for being so easily swayed. “Fine. But  _ only _ a little. 

With a whole  _ lot _ of smiles and soft words, she coaxed him into eating just a little over half. Then the bell for first class rang, and Thomas wasn’t looking forward to dealing with another set of classes.

By lunch, he couldn’t focus anymore. His stomach would not let him eat anything, even at Lark’s urging. He hated worrying her, and excused it as simply nerves (they had a duelling tournament that day in Anderson’s), although he doubted any of them believed the lie. After a few minutes of nonstop interrogation from Willow and the others, he was pretty fed up with being asked how he felt and finally snapped.

Unfortunately, Lark was the one who took the brunt of it.

“I said I’m fine, so why don’t you just shut up like you always do whenever we need you to be useful?” He snarled viciously, and Lark flinched away from him. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Lark, meanwhile, quietly stood up, turned, and left the mess hall. “L-Lark, wait!”

He moved to stand up, but Micah grabbed his arm and Willow shot him a cold look. “Nice job, jerk.” She spat, and she and Naomi swiftly followed their friend. Thomas stared helplessly after them. His stomach was the least of his problems.

_ What did I just do? _

\--- IV

Eventually, he made the decision to go after her. “Lark? Lark!” Walking to the Blade girls’ dorms, he glanced around and hesitated before knocking. “Lark?”

“Go away, Noble!” Willow ordered angrily, and he stepped back. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stared at the wood door.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said. You didn’t deserve that and I was mean.” He paused, then added, “You don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want.”

Turning, he left and headed for his own room. Inside, the light was off and the curtains shut, and he closed the door behind him. Once again, he allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes again.   _ Idiot. You can’t even treat your teammates nicely. No wonder they don’t like you.  _  He was so entranced in his thoughts and distracted by pain to hear the soft footsteps behind him.

He barely had the chance to defend himself.

Something leather, possibly a belt, wrapped around his throat tightly, and he instinctively sprung to get away. Gasping and tearing at the belt, he crumpled to the ground with whoever was attacking him. A sharp punch landed on his stomach, knocking the air from him. While he clawed desperately at the weapon, his attacker pinned him and something cold and steel forced its way into his side. Pain flared up, fiery and hot, along the gash it left, and the room spun as he fought to breathe.

His head smacked against his footrest and he fell to the ground, barely conscious, His attacker cursed and the belt loosed around Thomas’ neck as they stepped back. Fingers pressed to his pulse point and they murmured something, “How disappointing. You were said to be a good fighter.” He didn’t recognise their voice.

Closing his eyes, Thomas succumbed to the darkness.

\--- V

He woke up when the clock in the hall struck midnight.

Opening his eyes, his hands immediately went to his throat and side. Thankfully, his throat was only sore, not cut, and the bleeding in his side seemed to have stopped. Exhausted and in pain, Thomas reached up to haul himself to his feet.

That was the wrong idea. A bolt of pain shot through him, out from the stab wound like it was happening all over again. With a hoarse cry, he curled up on the ground, tears welling up in his eyes.  _ You’ll have to deal with it in the morning, moron. _ A dry voice noted in the back of his mind.  _ No sense troubling anyone with it now. _

Sucking in air through gritted teeth, Thomas dragged himself upright and stumbled over to the sink in his room. Fighting back tears the entire time, he pulled up his shirt and sloppily taped some gauze over the injury. Simon would be disappointed if he ever found out--he’d taught Thomas better than that. Regardless, it would have to do for the moment, at least.

Limping over to his bed, he collapsed, head and side throbbing painfully.

\--- VI

It was two days before he got the chance to deal with everything. To make matters worse, Willow had managed to convince the rest of Blade to act like he wasn’t even there the first day. He was too weak from fever to even get out of bed the next day. Everything was hot and hurting, and not eating was definitely making it worse. If he pretended he was just fasting and praying every time his stomach attacked itself, it hurt a little less.

He’d never been an avid prayer before.

_ Just two more days, and then Simon will be back and everything will be fine. He’ll know what to do. _ Thomas told himself the same statement every fifteen minutes, trying to convince himself things would be okay.

“Yo, lazy! Get your butt out here--we have school! Or have you forgotten?” Willow snarled viciously, walking into the room and turning the lights on. He fought the urge to hide under the covers from the light--it was too bright and his eyes hurt the second she turned it on. When she walked out, slamming the door behind her, Thomas struggled to get out of bed. He knew Willow hated him, and why--his father’s attempts at a betrothal had put a massive damper on the two’s relationship--but the remarks still stung like acid. When he pulled himself into the hallway a few minutes later, praying his jacket would hide the bloodstains on his shirt, she wrinkled her nose in disgust at his appearance. “Couldn’t you at least have cleaned up a little? You’re a mess.”

“Sorry.” He mumbled, aware of the room spinning despite the fact he was standing still. As they walked, he found himself reeling off-course almost drunkenly and repeatedly corrected himself. Breathing normally was almost impossible, and he hoped they couldn’t hear the rasp he was certain was as loud as his heartbeat was.

“Could you stop that?” Willow snapped peevishly, whirling around to glare at him. He stared at her in confusion, head swimming as he tried to register what she meant, leaning on the wall just to stay standing. “What is  _ wrong _ with you lately?”

Before he could even process what she said, she stormed off. The others cast sympathetic glances his way before following her. He waited until they were down the corridor to press his hand to the wound in his side. When he pulled his hand away, blood coated his fingers and palm.

_ Oh, Creator, please just let this be over soon. _ He dismayed abjectly, starting to walk again and letting his non-bloody hand trail against the wall. The world seemed hazy from the heat, and he feared the fever was only going to get worse.

\--- VII

“Nice to see you’ve decided to join us today, Thomas.” Tobiah greeted coldly, and Thomas slumped down in his desk. “No, no, if you decided to sleep all day yesterday then you can stand in my class.”

“What?” Lark and Micah burst out at the same time, and Naomi grabbed Thomas’ wrist when he moved to stand.

“Don’t.” She whispered quietly, and Micah jumped to his feet. 

“That’s not fair!” Micah snapped, and Tobiah’s cold blue gaze bored into the young man.

“Unless their absence is excused, students are not allowed to skip class. Thomas skipped class, therefore discipline is in order.” Tobiah declared. “Unless you’d like to join him.”

“It’s…it’s alright, Micah,” Thomas mumbled, slowly managing to get his feet under him. Naomi watched him, concern written on her face, as he did. His knees were already beginning to buckle, and a wave of heat washed over him again.

Micah scowled at Tobiah and stayed standing. As the lesson went on, Thomas found it more and more difficult to stand or keep his eyes open. Tobiah’s face was shimmery with heat, and he knew he was swaying back and forth but he couldn’t stop himself. Eventually, Naomi stood up and wrapped an arm around Thomas’ waist, clearly having noticed, and pulled him closer so she was supporting him. “Just another fifteen minutes. You’re doing great, sweetheart.” She whispered in his ear, and he wearily managed to nod.

“Miss Fisher, sit down,” Tobiah ordered angrily, and Naomi’s ocean-coloured gaze snapped to him.

“I will if Thomas can sit with me. Otherwise, if you make me, I’ll go straight to Queen Lyra after class.” She threatened, and Tobiah blinked once before going back to the lesson.

Eventually, blessedly, the bell signifying lunch rang and Thomas all but collapsed into his seat. Naomi half-crouched with him, touching his face gently, and he winced at the touch. “How is he?” Micah’s voice distantly asked over his shoulder, and he managed to crack his eyes open a little bit.

“He’s burning up.” Naomi’s hand hovered an inch or two away from Thomas’ skin for a second, and she added, “You don’t even have to touch him to feel the heat.” Forgetting where he was, Thomas reflexively touched the injury in his side with his already-bloody hand, and he knew it was a mistake when Naomi gasped. A sudden dizziness washed over him and he took a shaky breath, aware of it rattling in his chest as he did.

And then he blacked out.

\--- VIII

He was dimly aware of someone carrying him into his room, something pressed to his face, but then he fell back asleep again. When he woke up, his head was in someone’s lap, their fingers combing through his hair, and an oxygen mask strapped to his face. Weakly opening his eyes, he saw Lark smiling down at him, and one of her hands lingered on the side of his face. Something felt weird, and he realised there were damp towels laid across his throat and forehead, delightfully cool. “You scared us there, sweetie.” She murmured, and he felt the strange and almost overwhelming desire to just start crying. She kept stroking his hair quietly, and neither of them said anything for a minute.

“Dude, you were a  _ wreck _ ,” Micah announced from Thomas’ left. “An abso-freaking-lute  _ wreck.  _ Like,  _ how  _ were you even standing? I mean, I can barely handle 102 for a day, and you literally ran  _ eight miles  _ with the same temperature!” He paused, then added, “By the way, that cut in your side got a little infected, but I cleaned it and bandaged it up. You should be alright in a few days. But next time?” His cinnamon-coloured eyes gleamed when he shot a scolding look Thomas’ way. “You come to me  _ immediately  _ when you feel bad. I don’t care if it’s three p.m. or three a.m. You are coming and talking to me.

Thomas managed a tight smile, too tired to reply. After a moment he realised he was surrounded by his teammates, lying on his bed with Lark next to him and a light blanket was thrown over him. “I wish we had listened better. We could’ve helped a lot earlier.” Naomi whispered apologetically, and Thomas wished there was some way for him to reach out to her, to let her know he didn’t blame her at all. He didn’t blame any of them.

Willow reached over and touched his shoulder. “I’m really,  _ really  _ sorry Thomas. Can you forgive me?” She asked, and he managed a slight nod. A small smile crossed her lips and she sat back with an almost relieved expression.

“Now you, my friend, are going to get some well-needed rest. Medic’s orders.” Micah declared adamantly, sending a sharp look Spencer’s way. “And you’re telling that jerk of a ‘dad’,” he made an odd face at the word, then continued, “that all of us are skipping his class so we have extra time to make sure this idiot doesn’t get worse.”

“I’ll talk to my mom if she doesn’t believe you.” With a smug grin, Willow added, “I’m sure she can...convince him.”

Either from sheer exhaustion, anaesthetics, or just relief at not being alone anymore, Thomas drifted off again, surrounded by a team that (hopefully) would become family one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe this was fun. No, I did not write all of it at 2AM, I promise. I went to bed at 3 and woke up at 6:45. Gerald meanwhile, survives to spider another day.


	3. Hypothermia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas tells Naomi an interesting story one wintry day that explains why he doesn't want to go ice-skating with the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basic chat between my brain and I before writing this:  
> Me: Well, I just finished writing a multi-page Thomas Whump, I guess it’s time for a--  
> Brain: Plague.  
> Me: What? No! They’re my--  
> Brain: Plague. (pronounced Plag)  
> Me: No. They. Are. My. Children.  
> Brain: *demonic voice* PLAGUE (pronounced Plag again)  
> Me: Later. How about I do another whump now, and then we do some fluff/AU pieces, and then we do a plague?  
> Brain: *satisfied ‘yee’ noise*  
> Me: Thanks Chet.  
> Side note: that’s not a literal conversation, just my train of thought. I promise I’m not insane. Also, I am aware that a ‘drabble’ is specifically a 100-word fic focusing on brevity, but the only “drabbles” in here would be the headcanons. Sorry O__O (yes, I did just do that).   
> And now, a Simon and Thomas-centric fic (not as a ship, all platonic brother stuff. There is no incest in my writings. Ever.) Trigger warnings for: near drowning, drowning, near death, hypothermia, blizzards, frostbite (ish), and some anxiety/nervousness over the fate of another character. Enjoy!

“Hey, T, come join us!” Micah shouted as he pulled Lark out onto the frozen pond with the others. She yelped, holding tightly to Micah’s arm to avoid slipping and falling. Thomas grinned uncertainly and shifted in his seat on the cold stone bench. Clouds of steam rose into the air as they breathed, vanishing into the pale blue sky overhead. 

“Nah, I’ll just watch.” He called back. Someone settled on the bench next to him, and he turned to see Naomi all bundled up in coats and scarves. “Why aren’t you down there? You love having fun.”

“I do, but…” She paused, teeth chattering. “Where I’m from, the only ice comes from...well, nowhere, really.” Rubbing her hands together, she met his gaze and countered, “Why aren’t you down there? You grew up in this climate.”

He smiled grimly and averted his gaze, studying the little flakes of snow drifting from the sky. “It’s a long story.” She didn’t answer, apparently waiting for him to elaborate. “Do you want the full story or the paragraph version?”

“We don’t have much else to do--how about the full one?” She replied, shifting to show her full attention was on him.

He swallowed nervously, focusing his gaze on their four teammates below. “Well, two years ago, when I was a Year Seven and Simon was a Year Eight, we went out one winter. It was over the winter holidays--obviously--so we were pretty much alone, and our parents were here…”

\---I

“Come  _ on _ , Thomas! Have a little  _ fun!”  _ Simon pitched a snowball at Thomas, who ducked away and chucked one of his own at his brother. 

“I would, if you stop throwing snowballs at me!” Thomas shot back, earning him a laugh.

“Only if we can go skating!” Simon pointed, and Thomas looked over to see the pond nearby was frozen over. Taking his chance, the thirteen year old managed to land a snowball directly on Thomas’ face, knocking him off his feet into the snow. He laid there, irritated and with snow falling onto his face and dusting his lashes, for a few moments. “Aw, stop pouting. I  _ was  _ serious about the skating, by the way.” Simon helped him up, handing him a snowball. “Do you want to hit me with that? Gonna make you feel better?”

Thomas stuck his tongue out and chucked the snowball at a pair of snow knights they’d made the day before. They’d sort of become snow lumps overnight, and Thomas’ was missing most of an arm now. A dog had snapped part of it off that morning. “Let’s just go.” Thomas mumbled, and Simon laughed.

Thomas stood at the edge of the pond, studying the ice and tapping it with his foot. “Are you scared? Come on, T, you know it’s not that scary. Pond isn’t even that deep.”

“Are we sure this is safe? And it’s only ‘not that deep’  _ here _ , not in the middle.” Thomas argued, and Simon slid backwards on the ice towards the middle of the pond with a smug grin on his face. The ice didn’t crack, thankfully. “I hate you so much right now.”

Simon laughed again and spun on one foot. “Why--because I’m right and you know it? For the first time in forever, Simon Noble is actually right about something and Thomas Noble is not!” Simon shouted the words, which echoed in the snow-thick air. 

“Oh, shut up and go...suck an icicle or something!” Thomas growled crossly, slowly easing himself on the ice.

“What happened if I died right now and that was the last thing you said to me?” Simon whimpered like a scolded puppy, and Thomas snorted.

“Good riddance, I’d say.” He shot back, joking. Simon pouted, and a mischievous look glittered in his eyes.

“You don’t love me!” He chided, and Thomas scoffed, crossing his arms. “Wow,” Simon placed a hand over his heart, as if shocked, “You  _ really  _ don’t care about me  _ that  _ much? It’s almost like--” His eyes darted to the ice at Thomas’ feet and widened, “ _ Thomas, look out!” _

The next thing Thomas knew, he was skidding back and the ice shattered. His head cracked against the cold surface and he laid there, dazed, until a metallic taste filling his mouth and a warm, sticky feeling on the side of his head dragged him from it.  _ Simon? _

Slowly, he sat up, glancing around for his brother. What happened settled in when he saw the cracks and the hole in the ice.  _ Simon.  _ “Simon! Where-- _ SIMON! _ ” He ran over and glanced around, unsure if he should jump in or not. Seeing no other, safer option, he dove in and immediately regretted it. The icy water soaked almost to his bones and he glanced around for Simon, ice collecting in his hair as he did. Something brushed his foot and he dove a little deeper, grabbing Simon’s hand and desperately trying to pull them both to the surface. 

It was hard to pull Simon, who was too exhausted to move much, out of the water, but by some miracle Thomas managed it. Coughing and sputtering up water, the two dragged themselves over to the snow and laid there like dead fish. Closing his eyes for a second, Thomas felt the light dusting of snowflakes landing on his face. Simon was quietly gasping for air beside him.  _ “What would happen if I died right now and that was the last thing you said to me?” _

“I didn’t mean it, I promise.” He choked out after a moment, and Simon made a confused sound. “About...sucking and icicle and...and hating you.”

“I-I know. Do-don’t worry.” Simon replied, teeth chattering. The two laid there for a while, and dimly Thomas knew they needed to get to the house and warm up. Simon spoke up, “C-c-can we g-go in-inside?”

“Sure. Probably isn’t doing us any good to be out here.” Thomas hauled himself to his feet, water-soaked clothes clinging to his form uncomfortably. He reached down and helped Simon up, and the two started towards the house, shivering. Simon was mumbling to himself, slurring words and occasionally jolting himself awake. “Y-you alright?” Thomas grimaced, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. The snow was still falling around them. 

“S-sure.” Simon pulled his jacket closer, teeth gritted. “Just can’t wait...to get inside...have some of M-Miss T’s hot--hot cocoa.”

Thomas glanced at his brother, nervous. “You mean Mrs. Richards, right? Miss T retired a while ago.”

Simon frowned in confusion and blinked a few times. “R-right. Man, I’m  _ tired _ .” He continued, mumbling, “Gonna sleep for a week.”

Thankfully, the walk wasn’t far, and Mrs. Richards ran over as they staggered into the foyer. “Oh, thank the Creator! What happened to you two?” She touched both boys’ faces gently, eyes wide as coasters. “Oh, you’re freezing! Come here, come here!” She guided them over to one of the study rooms, throwing blankets over their shoulders and having them sit by the fire. Simon grabbed a pillow and flopped on the carpet, closing his eyes almost instantly. Relief flooded through Thomas as he watched his brother. He’d had enough ice for a lifetime, in his opinion.

\---II

“Wow. That’s quite some story.” Naomi mused, eyes wide, and Thomas smiled. “What happened next?”

“Mrs. Richards got us both hot cocoa, and I offered to help. She wouldn’t let me.” He noticed her smile a little. “Anyways, turns out we both sort of got hypothermia, and we were sick in bed for the next week.” 

“Oof. Sounds lovely.” 

“It wasn’t. Personally, I wouldn’t mind if I never went near that pond again--too many bad memories.” He glanced down at the snowflakes landing on his gloves, tiny white specks against the black cloth. 

“I wouldn’t blame you. Hey,” she elbowed his arm and he met her gaze, “maybe when we’re all older, you and Simon can come down to  _ my  _ hometown. There’s lots of...beaches. And...fruit. Lots of fruit. Shells, fish, that kind of...stuff.” 

He laughed. “How very descriptive.” 

She grinned a little wider. “Well, how’s it sound.?”

“I don’t know. Are there any sharks?”

“They’re nice ones.”

“Nice sharks? Really?”

“Yeah, it’s the barracudas you have to watch out for.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was fun. I actually really liked the softer parts, like the Thomas/Naomi banter(and my boys being in the spotlight!). Personally, I feel like Thomas’ parents probably wouldn’t have cared if Simon had died. I mean, they didn’t even bother to show up to Thomas’ Important Day at the Academy. They didn’t sound like they were busy (and the Graduation seemed like a major event, so it’d take precedence over a fancy ball or banquet; I mean the king and queen were there and their daughter was graduating, the Nobles should have at least gone for public opinion points). So I didn’t have them show up because they seem to have made themselves obsolete with Thomas and Simon’s lives, and thus their character development.  
>  Anyways, constructive criticism is welcome and so are comments, but if you attack someone who isn’t me there I’m going to come on and attack you back. Flame me all you want, but if you hurt someone else who’s enjoying the story and said as much you’re a noodleheaded cheesewad. And not like good mac-and-cheese, either. Like blue cheese and spaghetti noodles with pickled porkskin meatballs--no bueno.


	4. Sunny Port Soleado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lark and Thomas spend a free day in Alniham doing some fun stuff, while "totally avoiding" any sort of "romantic tone" to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some cute Thomas/Lark fluff (yes I’m in a loving-Thomas phase. The boy punches trees and loves baby animals, what do you expect?). We don’t get to see much of Alniham or Lark and Thomas, so I wanted to write a fluff piece as retribution for my double-whumps (and an attempt to pull myself from Virgil’s room, for any of you Fanders out there) of them relaxing on a free day in Alniham, enjoying life without training/too much stress. Tobiah’s pal’s name in this is Aaron, by the way (Aaron Marea, since I’m not creative w/surnames), and they’re in a town called Puerto Soleado. I’m aware the name roughly means ‘Port Sunny’ or ‘Sunny Port’-as I said, I’m not a creative creature and I got the words from a Spanish-to-English pocket dictionary I found several years ago. I took Mandarin 1 instead of Spanish in my own Year Nine/Ten (if we were at the Academy). Enjoy!

The first two months they were there, “sunny” Port Soleado was more of Port Lluvioso. 

“I am  _ so  _ sorry; you arrived in the middle of the monsoon season.” Tobiah’s Mage friend, Aaron Marea, apologised as he entered the study one rainy day. In his hands he held a silver platter with a porcelain tea set. The intricately done, lilac swirls reminded Thomas of a painting Lark had done for art once upon a time. It had been rather beautiful--the art teacher, Lord Downum, had put it up in his classroom. She’d been embarrassed, not liking the spotlight being set on her, and she never brought it up after that semester.

Thomas stood, reaching out to help, but Aaron waved him off. “It’s alright,  _ I’m  _ sorry we’ve been in your hair for so long.” Lark replied, smiling sweetly like she always did. Aaron returned it and offered a cup of tea. “Thank you.” Aaron handed a second to Thomas.

“Thanks.” He sat down, carefully sipping a little, and met Lark’s gaze as she did the exact same thing. Averting her gaze, she glanced down at the book she was reading. The faintest hint of a smile still played on her lips, and for some reason Thomas’ heart skipped a beat.  _ Who are you kidding, you moron. You’ve liked her for a long time. But just like Willow and Spencer--it’s never going to happen.  _ Desperate to distract himself from his thoughts, he glanced outside at the rain battering the windowpanes. “Lord Marea--”

“Aaron.  _ Just _ Aaron, please.”

“Aaron,” Thomas paused--it sounded and felt wrong not even to use ‘Mage’ before the man’s name, “Is there any news from Vega?”  _ Is there any news from my brother?  _ Communication had been mysteriously cut off--hopefully it was only the monsoons, but a feeling of dread told Thomas otherwise.

The Mage shook his head, “Sorry, Thomas. I’m afraid not.” He paused and glanced outside, then announced, “This storm should be over in an hour. Two days from now, it’d be nice to walk around. The two of you should see Puerto Soleado when it’s  _ actually  _ sunny. It’s rather beautiful.”

Thomas glanced at Lark curiously, although she didn’t meet his gaze.

\---I

Over the next two days, the city dried up almost entirely, and Aaron (politely) shooed the young knights from his house. As they walked around the city, Thomas glanced around at all the architecture and took everything in. “It’s very beautiful.” Lark commented shyly, running her fingers through some of her hair. She cast a slight smile his way and he returned it before the two both avoided each others’ gazes.

_ Say something, you idiot. Tell her she looks nice.  _ Some part of him, which always sounded a lot like Simon, urged.

_ What? Why?  _ The other part asked.

_ Because you think she looks nice? Why else, idiot?  _ “Simon” snapped back, and Thomas glanced at Lark. She  _ did  _ look nice, a sky blue dress she’d borrowed from Aaron’s niece adorning her figure. He didn’t think he’d ever actually be capable of telling her he thought she looked nice, though. 

“You, uh, you look nice.” He half-mumbled, wincing, as they walked down the cobblestone streets. A vendor selling flowers from a stand looked remarkably like Simon, and he saw the man shoot him a thumbs-up.

Lark blushed, apparently having heard his comment, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “T-thank you. You look nice, too.”

_ You’re both hopeless.  _ “Simon” groaned, and Thomas ignored him. He glanced over at Lark, who was taking everything in, and then at his own outfit. His wasn’t anything outside his normal, being a noble--dark trousers, a doublet, and a white shirt with his usual boots--but Lark seemed to think it was nice.

_ She thinks everything is nice.  _

“So, do you like it? Here in Puerto Soleado, I mean.” He knew he was stumbling over his words, knew he sounded foolish and if his father heard him he’d remind him of “proper diction”. Part of him didn’t really care, since Lark didn’t seem to.

“It’s gorgeous--when it’s not being rained on every second.” She replied as they passed by a park. Morning dew still dripped from dark green grass and yellow daffodils, and there was a hint of another monsoon in the patchy, dark silver clouds above. A chilled breeze whispered through the streets, playing with their hair. “What do  _ you  _ think of it?”

They strode by yet another white-walled house with flowers in the planters under the windows. Pink and purple blooms wavered a little, and he glanced at them casually. “It’s...different. Not like most other Alnihamian towns. This one’s a lot nicer than most ones I’ve been in.”

“You’ve been to Alniham before?” Lark marvelled with wide eyes and curiosity thick in her voice.

“My family owns a villa a little higher up the coast. It’s nice, but the people…” He trailed off, aware he was kind of slandering them and the town a little bit. “They’re old-fashioned.”

“Old-fashioned? How?” Lark tilted her head in the adorable way she always did when asking a question. 

He grimaced. “Well, for starters, they’d say you’re trying to...ah…’show off’ with your dress.” He glanced away and she looked down at the dress’ neckline, which barely extended more than a few inches below her collarbones.

“Show off  _ what  _ exactly?” She actually snorted, and when he met her gaze she grinned. “We should go there one day. I’ll wear that one blue skirt.”

“The one with the slit in the side up to your knee?” He prompted, and she nodded with a laugh. “Lark,  _ no.  _ That’s evil. You’d be arrested.” 

She winked at him. “They’d have to catch me first. Hey, let’s stop for lunch. Aaron suggested a really nice cafe around here and let me sell a book to him for some spending money.”

She grabbed his wrist and led him through the streets to the cafe, a lovely (still white-walled) building near the square. The smell of coffee and pastries permeated the air, and the cashier was a matronly older woman sitting in a raised chair behind the counter. Her daughters and nephew did the baking, and they all seemed pretty pleasant. 

When Thomas came over to the table with their food, Lark was admiring the multicoloured flowers in the vase. “They’re gorgeous, aren’t they?” He prompted, and she nodded. 

For a while, they just sat there and talked. Not about anything in particular, sipping on hot chocolate and nibbling on almond cakes.

As they were walking home, it started raining again. Both of them realised neither had been prepared, and they weren’t too far from Aaron’s house.  _ Maybe we should just-- _

“Come on!” Lark dragged him down the street, giggling as they ran. He found himself laughing too after a little bit, and he  _ almost  _ wished they got to stay out a little longer. 

When they walked in, dripping wet, Aaron appeared with several towels and a sly grin on his face. “Well, I think it’s safe to say you two had fun.” He mused, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the next day, of course, both of them were ill from running through the rain. No, I absolutely, totally did not base Puerto Soleado (originally Puerto Arenoso) off Bluebell from Tale of Two Towns, I don’t even know what you could possibly be referring to.  
>  If you haven’t picked up on it, I really like this couple. They seem like they’d be really cute (of course, all this is based off the author’s art thing they poster on Instagram a “while” ago).   
>  On a side note that’s barely related to this, I had an ‘epiphany’ a few days ago that Thomas Sanders was gay, despite having known this for at least two years. And also having written a fanfic that focuses on him being interested in mermaid Brendon Urie. If that’s not part of being a bi disaster, I don’t know what is.   
>  On to the next chapter!


End file.
